


only by the night

by WeeBeastie



Series: night verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, M/M, Sex Work, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: don't be scared - i've done this before.show me your teeth.(a modern Silverflint vampire AU)





	1. all my friends are heathens

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been knocking around in my head for some time, ever since I saw those gorgeous gifs of Flint all bloodied from his fisticuffs with Vane and looking like he was really enjoying it.
> 
> It is a modern vampire AU, so uh. Yeah. All the warnings that entails. Plus there's sex, of course. And Silver is a sex worker in this universe, so if that's not your deal you might not want to read this. There's nothing explicit with him and anyone but Flint, though.
> 
> The vampire lore is loosely based on a combination of True Blood and the Vampire Chronicles series, but mostly I just kinda did what I wanted.
> 
> Title borrowed from Kings of Leon, summary lyrics from Lady Gaga, chapter titles from various other songs/artists.
> 
> Huge thanks to Elle and El for being my cheerleaders during the development and writing of this monster. I love y'all. <3

“It’s fucking freezing out here, is this place even worth going to?” John Silver gripes as he and his roommate (well, one of his roommates) Max wait in the long, snaking line outside a mysteriously shabby little building that's flying a black pirate flag but otherwise has no signage whatsoever. Distantly, through the walls, Silver can hear and almost feel a throbbing bass line.

“Of course it is. Would I take you somewhere shitty? Besides, Idelle is performing here later tonight. She's been living with us for how long and you haven't seen her dance yet? You're going to love it, you'll come in your pants,” Max replies. She's got a syrupy French accent that Silver’s pretty sure is fake, but it's charming anyway. Charming is a good word for Max in general.

Finally they reach the front of the line and face down the bouncer, a huge sonofabitch with biceps bigger than Silver’s head. He's got half his hair shaved and the other half grown out long, there's a giant ring in his septum, and he's absolutely perfected the art of resting bitch face.

“ID,” the man sighs, holding one large hand out expectantly. He barely glances at Max’s before waving her inside, but Silver’s he scrutinizes. “John Silver, as in Long John Silver? And you're trying to get into a pirate bar?” he asks, squinting down at him. “Fuck me. Is that even your real name?”

“It is now. Either let me in or don't, you don't need my life story,” Silver says, folding his arms over his chest. It's not like he really needs to get into this stupid place anyway, except that Max is already inside and he is a little...intrigued...about Idelle’s upcoming performance.

“Fine, twink. Get in,” the surly giant says, flipping Silver’s license back at him and ushering him into the bar.

“Gosh, thanks so much,” Silver mutters, ducking into the club. Once his eyes adjust to the gloom, he can see that the place is bigger inside than it looked from the sidewalk. The main floor is crowded with writhing Portland weirdos, dancing to the industrial song that's being played at ear-splitting volume, and at the back is an empty stage that Silver assumes Idelle will eventually be performing on. There's a staircase off to the left that leads up to the mezzanine level, and to the right is the bar, being manned by a short redhead who also has excellent resting bitch face (Silver is sensing a theme). Everything in the bar is black or some other drab color, and there's pirate paraphernalia everywhere Silver looks.

He's about to just turn around and walk out, because he did not pregame enough to deal with this goth-flavored pirate chic aesthetic, but then Max is at his elbow and she's dragging him over to the bar.

“You know the guy who owns this place was an actual pirate?” Max is saying in his ear, and Silver snorts.

“What, like an internet pirate?” he jokes, and Max just rolls her eyes at him.

“No, you ass. He's a vampire! He was a pirate in the 18th century, I'm serious. His name is James Flint but everyone who works here calls him Captain,” Max says. She orders two elaborate rum drinks from the bartender, and Silver doesn't miss how Max smiles at the redhead and how she smiles back, almost shyly. Interesting.

“A vampire, hmm? I haven't had the pleasure of one of those yet,” Silver says. The thought definitely intrigues him - he's not one of those people who's out to bang a vampire just for the thrill, but if he meets one he likes, why not? That's his philosophy with living people in general, and it seems only fair to give the undead the same consideration.

It's only been about a year since the big reveal - the revelation that vampires are real and actually, there are tons of them. Everywhere. Said reveal was made possible by the invention of a decent synthetic substitute for blood, which was originally intended for use in the medical sphere. It had the surprising side effect of being an excellent meal replacement for the living-impaired, who finally felt comfortable enough to step out of the shadows and make themselves known, now that hunting and killing people was unnecessary for their survival. The synthetic blood was then of course immediately mass marketed for vampires and named Ichor by some team of overpaid advertising executives, because that's how those things go.

“How would you know unless they told you? They blend in pretty well, in my experience,” Max says. She grabs Silver’s free hand with her own, and he knocks back about half his overpriced cocktail in a desperate attempt to be buzzed enough to deal with this place and Max’s enthusiasm for it.

Close to midnight, Idelle finally takes the stage. She is stunning, but Silver already knew that since he lives with her, and very talented - her fan dance is particularly noteworthy. Silver is ready to call it a night once she's finished (because he's 28 and hangovers past age 25 are no joke), but of course he's lost Max in the crush of people and he ends up standing alone by the staircase to the mezzanine. He's about to just say fuck it, call an Uber and flee, when he turns and runs smack into someone hard and broad and muscle-y.

And...not cold exactly, but not warm like living people are warm, either. 

Silver tips his head back and finds himself looking up at a man who appears to be in his early forties, with intensely green eyes, abundant freckles scattered over very pale skin, and long bright red hair pulled up and back into a purposefully messy bun. He's about a head taller than Silver, and he's thick in all the right places. Silver immediately wants a piece of that.

Silver smiles dumbly at him for a moment, and to his great fortune the man - vampire? Definitely vampire - smiles back, all teeth.

“Riot,” the man says, gesturing to Silver’s shirt, which has the word emblazoned across the front. “Is that a threat, or a promise?” he asks, and holy shit that's the sexiest British accent Silver’s ever heard.

“Whatever you'd like it to be, Captain,” Silver says with his most dazzling smile. He's guessed this is the one and only James Flint, because he has decent intuition about these things.

The man - Flint, Silver is sure now - snorts at his dumb line. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks, leaning in close to talk directly into Silver’s ear. If he's not mistaken, Flint just sniffed him.

“Yes please,” Silver says. He follows Flint to the bar, the crowd magically parting in front of them, and watches with envy as Flint’s heavy dark coat swirls dramatically around him. Silver is practically sweating to death in the crowded club in his jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped out, but he's guessing Flint is the cold-blooded type. So to speak.

“Anne! Quit flirting with that woman and get my acquaintance here tonight’s special,” Flint barks at the bartender, who glowers at him but stops chatting Max up briefly to mix Silver another silly rum cocktail. “I didn't catch your name,” Flint says, looking keenly down at Silver, clearly drinking him in.

“It’s John. Silver,” he says, feeling himself blush a little. He wonders if Flint is going to make some kind of pirate joke like the bitchy bouncer did.

“John Silver,” Flint repeats, nodding his thanks to Anne the bartender when she sets Silver’s drink down in front of him. “I like that name. Come with me to my office, John Silver. We can actually talk in there, it's not so fucking loud as it is out here.”

He follows Flint eagerly back to the staircase and up to the mezzanine level, waving at Max so she'll know where he's going and that she can go home with Anne if she wants, if things work out that way. He doesn't need Max to hang around here waiting for him, if the way Flint is looking at him is any indication.

The office must be soundproofed, because it's much quieter in there than in the club proper, as promised. Flint shrugs off his long coat and hangs it on a rack by the door, then settles in the chair - throne, really - behind the desk and puts his feet up.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar,” Flint says, and Silver can feel those predatory green eyes on his throat as he swallows a sip of the cloying drink.

“That depends, do you watch a lot of webcam porn? Or have you ever hired an escort?” Silver replies, grinning a little at how taken aback Flint briefly looks. 

“You’re a rent boy,” Flint muses, and Silver snorts at his usage of that outdated term.

“We prefer to be called sex workers these days, but yeah, basically,” he says, watching Flint for a reaction. “Does that change your opinion of me? I don't really care, I’d just like to know right now if you're the type who's gonna judge me.”

“I’m not gonna pay you, I'll say that up front,” Flint says. He pulls the hair tie out of his carefully haphazard bun - his nails are painted matte black, Silver notices with admiration - and shakes his long hair out casually, then ties it up again. “But no, it doesn't change my opinion of you. I barely know you, I don't care about what you do. If you were hoping to make money off me though, it's time to leave. Peddle your wares elsewhere, as it were.”

“If I was working tonight I wouldn't have followed you up here,” Silver says, smirking crookedly at Flint. He looks at him, considering. “I’ve never fucked a vampire before.”

“You’re a forward little shit. What makes you think we're going to fuck tonight?” Flint asks, examining his nails and then looking at Silver. His expression is unreadable, and it's spooky and sexy to Silver.

“Downstairs you were looking at me like you wanted to eat me,” Silver says with an incredulous laugh. “I don't know about you, but I'm pretty good at reading people. I know that look.”

“Maybe I really do want to eat you, Mr. Silver. Maybe I'm nothing but a monster, and I brought you up here to murder you and drink all your sweet blood,” Flint deadpans. He takes his feet down carefully from his desk and in a flash is on the other side of it, standing so close to Silver he can count his red-gold eyelashes. “Does that frighten you?” Flint rumbles.

“No,” Silver says quietly. He's known real monsters, and he can tell Flint isn't one, whoever he is, whoever he's been, whatever he's done before.

Flint reaches out with one cool hand and tucks Silver’s long curls behind his ear, pushing his hair off his neck. “May I?” he asks, and yes, now he's definitely sniffing Silver.

“Did you seriously just ask my permission to bite me? What happened to just, you know, going for it? Isn't that something your kind is sort of known for, hypnotizing people and biting the shit out of them whether they want it or not?” Silver teases, his heart speeding up as Flint’s strong arms encircle his waist.

“You talk too much. And forgive me for wanting explicit consent. Call it a kink,” Flint snarks, and then Silver hears a curious ‘pop’ and Flint suddenly has an impressively large set of fangs in his mouth where before were fairly ordinary incisors. They look lethal, and Silver can't help staring. “I’d like a yes before I continue,” Flint says, and his tongue runs carefully over his fangs.

“Uh. I know arousal doesn't equal consent, but I just got really hard, so there's that. By which I mean yes, fuck yes, permission granted,” Silver says, tipping his head to the side to give Flint more room. He's always enjoyed having his neck nibbled, and this - well. He has a feeling he'll be jerking off to the memory of this for months.

He feels the barest brush of teeth on his neck, and then there's a little sting and a sudden rush of lust and overwhelming pleasure. He groans and practically swoons in Flint’s arms, whimpering at the strange but excellent feeling of Flint drinking his blood. 

It seems to only last a moment and then Flint is pulling away from his neck, head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open. He's got Silver’s blood on his teeth and lips, and that shouldn't be sexy, but...fuck.

“I knew you'd taste amazing,” Flint pants hoarsely. He finally opens his eyes and looks down at Silver, still holding on to him, which is good because somehow Silver’s knees have gone weak. “You should go before I get ahead of myself.”

“But I want--”

“Shh. Not yet, not tonight. Give me your phone and I'll put my number in, you can text me tomorrow night,” Flint says, and licks Silver’s blood off his lips like he's chasing the taste of it.

“You text?” Silver asks incredulously before he can stop himself.

“I’m old, not a Luddite,” Flint mutters, and lets go of Silver so abruptly that he almost falls over. He staggers a little but recovers, then unlocks his phone and hands it to Flint, who enters his information so quickly his fingers are a blur. “There,” he says as he gives the phone back, then eyes the obvious fang marks he's left on Silver’s neck. “I can heal that for you if you'd like.”

“No,” Silver says, putting one hand to his neck to feel the slightly tender, bloodied spot where Flint sank his fangs in. “I...like it.”

“Suit yourself,” Flint says. He looks like he's hesitating, and then he leans in and presses his mouth to Silver’s, fangs digging into Silver’s lower lip just slightly. Silver can taste his own blood in Flint’s mouth, and for reasons he can't explain that makes him even harder. “Go home, boy,” Flint rumbles when he pulls back. “I expect to hear from you tomorrow.”

“You will,” Silver says breathlessly. He just looks at Flint for a moment, then turns and leaves the office on wobbly legs. He retreats downstairs and finds that Max is long gone - as is Anne the bartender, not coincidentally. He gets an Uber home and goes to bed thinking of Flint. In his dreams, he replays being bitten over and over again.

 

\---

 

The next night finds Silver lying on his narrow twin bed passing a joint back and forth with Max while he waits for the sun to go down. He's not antsy about texting Flint, though. Not at all. Because he doesn't get hung up on people he hasn't even fucked yet. That just isn't his style.

“...and so I think Jack is in love with her but, aha, she's begun to realize she is actually a lesbian. Late bloomer,” Max is saying with a little sigh. Who's she talking about? Right, Anne. She's been talking about Anne all day.

“And who is Jack, again?” Silver asks, taking the joint back and indulging in another hit.

“Flint’s day man, you adorably stupid boy. How high are you?” Max teases him. She takes the joint from his hand and sits up. “I should go, I have work to do. You are going to see Flint tonight, oui?”

“Probably, I dunno. I'll text him once it's dark out, see what his plans are,” Silver says, trying for casual and carefree. If the way Max is smirking is any indication, he's missed the mark.

“Of course. Have fun, and be safe, cher,” Max says. She gets up from Silver’s bed, then leans over to kiss his forehead, her long hair tickling his face.

“Yes, Mother,” he calls after her as she leaves his broom closet of a room. He plays with his phone until it’s full dark outside, then texts Flint, just a casual ‘hey this is silver’ to get the conversation started.

He receives a reply almost immediately - an address. Flint’s, presumably. He sits up abruptly in his bed and considers his options. Option the first: don't go alone to the house of a vampire he met the night before, almost certainly stay alive but maybe miss out on some seriously amazing sex. Option the second: go to Flint’s house, get brains summarily fucked out, maybe die.

He gets up from the bed, puts on his shoes, and grabs his favorite hoodie.

He hails an Uber, and it takes him to the address. It turns out to be a stately gray Victorian-style house on a decent parcel of land, set back from the sidewalk so that he has to pass through a wrought iron gate and tackle some steep concrete steps just to get to the porch, then the front door, and finally ring the bell.

A disgruntled-looking man with an ironic mullet and the most carefully groomed facial hair Silver has ever seen answers the door a minute later. “Yes? What?” he asks, already sounding irritated. He's dressed like-- well. Even Silver thinks the shirt (blouse?) he's got on is a bit much, and Silver himself is currently sporting floral print pants and a Yeezy t-shirt.

“Uh, does James Flint live here?” Silver asks, glancing around and feeling a bit out of place. What he can see of the house looks ridiculously well-appointed and tastefully decorated; it's like it belongs to a wealthy old man who has dignified, worldly taste in furnishings and enough time and money to acquire whatever he wants. Which it very likely does.

The flamboyantly-dressed man sighs noisily and turns to call over his shoulder into the cavernous house. “Captain! There's a boy at the door for you. Did you order dinner in again?” he shouts dryly.

“Let him in, Jack, for Christ’s sake. Who raised you?” Silver hears Flint griping as he makes his way down the staircase and into the foyer. Silver stares at Flint over Jack’s shoulder, leaning up on his toes to get a better look. Flint is simply dressed in a long-sleeved green thermal shirt and dark wash jeans that accentuate his obscene thighs, and to Silver’s surprise, he's barefoot. He would've taken Flint for a ‘wears shoes in the house’ type of guy.

Jack slides out of the way, clearly feeling the electricity between Flint and Silver and not wanting to get in the middle of it. “Do you need anything else, or shall I make myself scarce for the evening?” he asks.

“Go,” Flint says, waving Jack away. He's staring right back at Silver, that ‘all the better to eat you with’ look on his face again.

Silver is drawn to Flint immediately and finds himself in his arms a moment later, looking up into Flint’s absurdly green eyes. Distantly, he hears the door shut behind him. Jack is gone. Good.

“Hello,” Flint rumbles, nosing behind Silver’s ear, inhaling deeply and letting out a soft groan. “You look ridiculous, the fuck are those trousers? And Yeezy, really? But at least you smell delicious. Did you get high before you came here?”

“How did you know? Is that some special vampire superpower of yours?” Silver asks with a little grin, shivering in anticipation when he hears the unmistakable sound of Flint’s fangs coming out.

“I can smell it on you, you beautiful idiot, anybody could.” Flint takes Silver’s hand, his own cool and soft, and leads him to the staircase. He ushers him up the stairs posthaste and to the master bedroom, which holds a giant four-poster bed, an armoire that Silver would have to guess is an antique, and a full-length mirror, plus a large ornate rug on the hardwood floor and a series of charcoal line drawings hanging on the walls. Much more spacious and intentionally decorated than Silver’s own bedroom.

“No coffin?” Silver jokes breathlessly as Flint slams the door shut behind him and flicks on the lights. The room is windowless, he realizes, and the door is sealed in such a way that not even a hint of light could get in from outside. Smart.

“That isn't a thing anymore, and hasn't been for years. Stop asking me so many bloody stupid questions,” Flint says, shoving Silver backward with both hands so that he topples on to the bed.

“Heh, bloody,” Silver murmurs, and he can practically hear Flint roll his eyes.

“I’m going to have to gag you sometime,” he thinks he hears Flint mutter, and then Flint is on his knees, pulling Silver’s ridiculous pants down and nuzzling his thigh, practically purring. “No underwear? Naughty,” he says. He glances up at Silver, idly rubbing one cool thumb over a sensitive, vulnerable patch of his inner thigh. “I’d like to taste you, just here, if that's alright.”

“Again with the asking permission. Look, you have my blanket consent henceforth to bite me whenever, wherever, and however-- oh, _fuck_ ,” Silver gasps when Flint sinks his fangs into his leg. He's instantly achingly hard, crying out at the strange simultaneous burning pain and throbbing pleasure he can feel radiating from where Flint is feeding on him. It builds and builds, and just as he feels like he's about to come, Flint pulls back.

Silver looks down, panting, and sees Flint with his head tipped back and his eyes shut, skin newly pinked, clearly lost in the taste of Silver’s blood. He's got it on his mouth and chin, a small rivulet running down his neck, pausing in the hollow of his throat. The sight of him like this, bloodied, fangs prominent, frightens Silver just a little but it turns him on, too.

“Why does that feel so good?” Silver asks, reaching out to wipe the blood off Flint’s face with the cuff of his sweatshirt sleeve before he can stop himself. “I mean I get why _you_ like it, but why does it make me feel like I'm gonna come?” he jokes, grinning a little down at Flint.

“It doesn't feel that way for everyone, you're just particularly receptive to me. If someone younger or less experienced than me bit you, it might hurt you more and not feel as good. For some people it doesn't matter who's doing the biting or how gently they do it, it just hurts and they don't get any good feelings from it,” Flint says.

“So...kind of like fucking, then,” Silver says, tucking a loose strand of Flint’s brilliantly red hair behind his ear.

“I suppose you could draw a certain parallel, yes,” Flint agrees, then climbs up on to the bed with Silver, grinning wolfishly down at him.

“Fortunately for you I happen to be very good at that,” Silver says, grinning back. He lets Flint yank his remaining clothes off him, then reaches out to get his hands on Flint and divest him of his clothes, too. Once he's got Flint’s shirt off, he pauses, running one hand over his cool, smooth skin. “You have a fuckton of freckles, I like that,” he murmurs. He puts one hand over Flint’s heart and knows he shouldn't be surprised when he feels nothing, but he's still a little taken aback. “Your heart isn't beating.”

“Clinically speaking, I'm dead,” Flint says matter-of-factly, shimmying out of his jeans. He ducks his head and Silver can feel his mouth on his neck, fangs scraping lightly, just enough to give Silver goosebumps.

“You don't feel dead to me,” Silver says, tipping his head back and reaching down to briefly wrap one hand around Flint’s cock, giving it a few quick strokes. “Very much alive, actually,” he jokes, raising his head to watch as Flint kisses his way down his body.

Flint glances up and for a moment they lock eyes. Silver feels a bit like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf, but he likes it. “How does one get tan lines like those in Oregon?” Flint teases, breaking the spell.

Silver looks down at himself. His legs and upper body are indeed very tan, but there's a small area from his hips to his thighs that's much paler. “Good genes? A tanning salon, actually, and being mostly naked outside on the rare occasions when the weather’s nice.”

Flint scrapes the thin skin over his hipbone with those impressive fangs, just enough to make Silver yelp and startle. “So sensitive,” he rumbles, and the next thing Silver knows, Flint has his cock in his mouth and down his throat.

“Oh, oh, fuck, that's-- I can't, please-- please be careful. How are you doing that? Oh god, oh fuck,” Silver babbles, one hand resting lightly on the back of Flint’s head, fingers tangling in his tied-back hair. Being blown by him is like being blown by a human, and yet it's different - there's the titillating threat of Flint’s fangs, for one, and his mouth isn't quite as hot as Silver’s used to. He is obscenely talented, though, and he's quickly driving Silver crazy with his tongue. He can feel himself starting to tense up already, and he thinks he probably ought to warn Flint. “I'm gonna come, baby, you--” Silver manages to grit out before he bucks up into Flint’s mouth and comes, crying out in pleasure and tugging Flint’s hair harder than he really means to.

Flint swallows like it's nothing, then pulls off Silver, licking a wet stripe up his thigh and making him shiver. If he noticed that Silver slipped up and called him ‘baby,’ he mercifully doesn't mention it. “Were you scared I was going to bite you? I do know how to mind my teeth, you know, I've been doing this a long time,” he says.

“A little,” Silver admits. He reaches down to pull Flint up and kiss him, tasting himself in Flint’s mouth. He gets one hand between them and starts stroking him, quietly reveling in how Flint hisses and thrusts into Silver’s grasp. “You want to fuck me?” he purrs in Flint’s ear, pitching his voice low and seductive. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Filthy,” Flint whispers, and then he's a blur of motion and Silver finds himself on his stomach, a pillow under his hips to raise his ass up, Flint’s cool, slick fingers starting to stretch him open.

“How the fuck...?” Silver wonders, dazed, then closes his eyes and presses back against Flint’s fingers, deciding not to question it too much. He's already getting hard again, his very interested cock trapped between his stomach and the pillow under him.

“What the hell is this?” Flint asks, and Silver feels him tap the tattoo on Silver’s shoulder blade with one finger of his free hand.

“It’s a pork chop,” Silver says, squirming and trying to get Flint’s fingers deeper inside himself.

“...why?” Flint asks, and he's making it hard for Silver to think, the way he's rubbing his nimble fingers over Silver’s prostate.

“Fuck, that feels _good_ ,” Silver moans, then tries to remember what Flint just asked him so he can answer. “Um, why not, I guess?”

“You are so fucking ridiculous,” Flint mutters almost fondly, and then pulls his fingers out. Silver feels the head of his impressive cock pressing against him in all its hard, uncut glory. Then something occurs to him.

“Condom?” Silver pants, pushing himself up on one arm and twisting around to look at Flint over his shoulder.

“I can't catch anything from you, and you couldn't catch anything from me, even if I had something. Which I don't,” Flint says, holding his cock in one hand and gently petting Silver’s hip with the other. “Still, I'll use one if you like. I just like it better this way, call me old-fashioned,” he says, grinning. He's flushed all over - with Silver’s blood, he realizes with a shiver - and he looks like a god. A freckled, red-haired sex god with incredible thighs who's about to fuck Silver raw.

“No, I-- I've just never done it without before. But I'm definitely curious, and more than willing,” Silver says. “I want you. Please,” he says softly, settling on his stomach again and bracing himself. He feels Flint lean over him and then his cock is pressing in, easing into him slowly. Silver groans and he hears Flint do the same, sparks of pleasure racing up his spine at the sound. “Fuck,” he whispers, burying his face in his arms. It feels intense and it's almost too much, having Flint inside him with nothing between them, but at the same time he just wants more.

“Silver,” Flint groans, and now he's got both hands on Silver’s hips and has started fucking into him in short, hard thrusts. “You’re so hot and tight, Jesus.”

Silver whimpers and moves with Flint, rubbing futilely against the pillow beneath him. It's not enough stimulation on his cock to get him off, just enough to drive him wild. He braces his hands on the bed so he can push back against Flint, wanting him as deep as possible. He's aching for it, curling his fingers in the sheets and rolling his hips back. “More, please, please,” he gasps, spreading his thighs further apart to take Flint even deeper.

“You were made for this,” Silver hears Flint moan from behind him. “For me,” he growls, one hand coming up to fist in Silver’s hair and yank his head back. His hips are moving faster and harder now, fucking Silver with such force he'd swear his teeth are rattling.

“Come in me,” Silver pants, needing to feel Flint spill inside him. “Please, baby, come on, I need it,” he says, hearing himself getting frantic with need.

Flint growls, animalistic, and Silver feels him coming deep within him, whimpering at this entirely new sensation. He can tell he's going to be craving it from now on - Flint has ruined him, he's doomed, he'll never be satisfied with safe sex again. He presses back against him with a wordless noise, his eyes screwed shut, needing Flint’s hand on him. He's rewarded with a large, not-quite-warm hand on his cock, jerking him off swiftly, somehow knowing just how he needs it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Flint whispers against his ear, and for whatever reason that does it for Silver and he comes all over himself and the pillow under him, gritting his teeth and shuddering through it.

He feels Flint manhandling him like a ragdoll through his post-orgasmic haze, and when he next opens his eyes he's on his back with Flint lying next to him, almost tenderly running a damp washcloth over his belly and then his inner thighs before tossing it aside.

“Sweetheart, huh?” Silver asks hoarsely, giving Flint a big, smug grin.

“Hush. I was going to be polite and not mention this, but you started it by calling me ‘baby.’ Twice,” Flint says, and leans over to nip Silver’s ear. It stings, but it just makes him laugh. Then there's a soft, strange noise and Flint’s fangs disappear, retracting up into his mouth.

“How much control do you have over those?” Silver asks quietly, studying Flint. His hair is coming loose from its artfully casual bun, and with his fangs gone and his skin still rosy from Silver’s blood, he looks almost passably human. It makes Silver wonder what he looked like when he was alive - when he was a dread pirate captain. Silver notices then for the first time that Flint’s got a small stud in one ear, and his mind starts to wander. Did Flint as a pirate wear a hoop earring? Did he ever have a pet parrot? Where is his treasure buried, and what's the conversion rate for guineas or pieces of eight or whatever to modern American money?

“Rather a lot, now. I can put them out or in at will, unless I'm overcome by a particularly strong emotion like lust or anger. Or if I get very hungry,” Flint says, turning Silver on to his side and curling up behind him. “Mm, you're so warm. When I was first turned, I had very little control over my fangs. That's how it goes - new vampires are much more beast and less human than older ones. Something about being newly turned brings out the...animal, in you.” He clears his throat. “I’m much more civilized now, I even ask permission before I bite. Usually.”

“Do you want me to stay here tonight? I can go,” Silver says quietly after a long pause, taking one of Flint’s hands in his own and idly touching it, admiring his matte black nail polish. Silver’s own nails are painted a chipping dark purple, his roommate Charlotte’s choice when last she manicured them for him.

“I don't care either way, do what you like. When I sleep I'm quite literally dead to the world, I'm not aware if anyone is here or not and I don't make a good bedfellow. I'm not warm, I don't breathe, I have no pulse, and I'm impossible to move. I've been told it's a little disturbing from a human perspective,” Flint says, chuckling darkly. “If you leave during the day, though, you'll have to be very careful you don't let any light in when you open the door.”

“I should probably just go now, then. My roommates might worry if I don't come home tonight,” Silver says. He sits up, feeling a little reluctant to leave Flint but shaking it off as some kind of weird post-sex hormonal thing.

“Roommates, plural? You young people and your living arrangements, I don't think I could stand living with more than one or two people at most,” Flint says. “And I would have to like them very much.”

“Us young people are fucking broke, grandpa, and Portland is expensive. We can't all afford to live alone in a fancy vampire mansion,” Silver says, getting out of bed and pulling his floral print pants on. “I have four roommates, all women, and I love living with them even if it does get a little crowded.” He finds his shirt and hoodie on the floor and puts both on, then steps into his shoes. “Text me when you wake up tomorrow night, yeah? This was fun. I'd love to see you again, maybe get a chance to get my mouth on you next time,” he says, grinning. He leans down and kisses Flint goodbye, mildly surprised when he feels Flint’s hand come up to tenderly cradle his head and hold him close, lengthening the brief kiss and turning it into something more.

“Goodnight, Silver,” Flint says when he pulls back. “I'll text you.”

“Night, Flint,” he says. He leaves the bedroom, then quietly leaves Flint’s house and gets an Uber home. 

When he unlocks the front door and steps inside, he finds he's not the only one still awake, even though it's well past midnight. One of his roommates is in the tiny galley kitchen, heating water in the kettle for tea.

“Hey, Madi,” he greets her, coming up behind her and kissing her cheek. “Can’t sleep, hm?” he asks as she turns around to face him. He can feel her keen dark eyes on him, taking in the blood on his sleeve, his wild sex hair, the nicks from Flint’s teeth here and there. His shirt is on backwards, he realizes belatedly. He's sure he smells like he's spent the evening fucking, too.

“Hi, John. Did you have a good night?” she asks with a little smile. She's clearly got him all figured out - she's always been able to read him eerily well. Plus, it's pretty obvious that he just got laid, even to people who can't read him like she can.

“Yeah, it wasn't bad,” he says as the kettle whistles at Madi. She makes a cup of minty herbal tea for herself, and offers Silver one, which he politely declines. “I think I'm just gonna shower and then go to bed. Want to join me?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She laughs, shaking her head at him. “I keep telling you, as much fun as you and I used to have together, I've got a boyfriend now. A boyfriend I love, who's very into monogamy and would probably not be super thrilled if I got naked with you again just for old times’ sake.”

“That’s alright, actually. I'm spent anyway,” Silver says with a happy little sigh. “But if you ever change your mind about the whole monogamous boyfriend thing, you know where to find me,” he says. He presses an affectionate kiss to her forehead and then retreats to the apartment’s sole bathroom, idly daydreaming about what showering with Flint would be like.

He has a hard time sleeping that night, his thoughts are so consumed by Flint.


	2. a man after midnight

“Father? Father. God damn it, James fucking Flint!”

Flint looks up sharply from his phone, disoriented. He almost forgot where he was. Silver has been sending him a series of increasingly nude selfies, and has invited Flint to watch his live webcam show later that evening if he's got time. They've only been seeing each other - that is, hanging out at night, having sex, and engaging in more than a little blood play - for a few weeks, but Flint already feels positively bewitched by him. He can't get enough of his blood, his mouth, his cock, his ass. He's even started to become fond of how flippant and obnoxious Silver is, which is just madness.

He hasn't been this hung up on anyone, human or otherwise, in a long time. It's making it hard for him to focus on his job, his business and his employees. Including his favorite employee, the angelic and filthy-mouthed blonde vampiress in front of him. “I’m so sorry, my darling girl. Please continue.”

His progeny, Eleanor, sighs at him and shakes her head. “No, I can tell I'm not getting through to you tonight. It's that human, John Silver, isn't it? You're full of dire warnings about having a relationship with a human where Charles and I are concerned, but here you are with a pet human of your own.”

“We do not have a relationship,” Flint protests immediately, turning his phone over on his desk so Eleanor won't get an eyeful of the downright obscene photo Silver just sent him. “I’ll spare you the details, but this isn't at all like you and Vane. Much less emotionally fraught. Purely carnal.”

“I believe you,” Eleanor says, in a tone that betrays that she does not. “In any case, it’s just about time to open, so I'm going to make my rounds and leave you be. I'll catch up with you later,” she says. She gets up from her seat across Flint and leans down to kiss his cheek. “Be careful with this John Silver. I haven't met him yet but I don't think I like him,” she says, raising an eyebrow at Flint and then turning to leave his office.

He sighs and shakes his head at himself. He's more than three hundred fucking years old, he shouldn't be acting like a lust-addled teenager over some human who he'll probably tire of in another few weeks. Guiltily, he turns his phone back over and responds to Silver’s filthy texts, asking if he can see him later. Silver responds almost immediately, telling him to watch the webcam show and then giving Flint his home address, encouraging him to come over after the show by way of suggestive emojis.

“Eggplant tongue water droplets? Oh. _Oh_ ,” Flint mutters, and texts back a peach and a tongue, plus a smirking, satisfied-looking face. That'll do.

He gets up and locks his office door, hating himself a little for it. Then he opens his laptop and finds Silver’s webcam page, which is dark as his show hasn't quite started yet. It's not like Flint has the URL bookmarked or anything, though. That would be ridiculous.

After about half an hour passes, the webcam feed blinks to life and there's Silver in vivid color and high resolution, already shirtless, grinning at the camera. He talks to his audience as he strips the rest of the way and starts working himself up, and Flint gets so caught up in watching him he loses track of time until suddenly someone is knocking insistently on the door to his office. He startles and gets to his feet in a rush, unlocking the door and yanking it open. “What?” he snarls.

Jack stares at Flint in slack-jawed silence, Silver’s breathy moans still echoing from Flint’s abandoned laptop in the background. “...it can wait,” Jack finally says, hastily pulling the door shut again.

It takes Flint a moment after Jack’s speedy retreat to realize his fangs are out, the combination of lust from Silver’s pornographic display and anger at being interrupted having overwhelmed him. He hasn't experienced a loss of control with his fangs like that in a long time, and he feels a little bad that Jack saw him that way. 

Not bad enough to shut off his laptop or quit watching Silver, though.

Almost as soon as Silver’s show is over, Flint leaves the Jolly Roger, making his excuses to his staff as to why he can't stay until closing that night, why he simply has to leave early. Eleanor gives him a knowing smirk, and she must've told Vane something about Silver because he's got a shit-eating grin on his annoyingly handsome face.

Flint programs Silver’s address into his phone and drives over, miraculously finding a place to park his car - a dark red Impala - that doesn't look too sketchy. He checks his reflection in the rear view mirror and feels grateful he had the foresight to actually bother with his hair (it's in a fishtail braid because fuck toxic masculinity, Flint _likes_ braiding his hair) and touch up his matte black manicure earlier that evening. He's in head to toe dark clothing, which has always been a favorite aesthetic of his. He looks, in a word, good. Satisfied with his appearance, he leaves the car and strolls down the sidewalk, pulling his coat closer around himself against the evening chill.

When he gets to Silver’s front door, he hears music emanating from inside, the bass line so strong and loud it's a wonder the humans inside haven't gone deaf. He knocks loudly and the music is abruptly silenced, then a moment later the door swings open.

Silver stands in front of him, obviously recently showered, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, soft-looking gray sweatpants that are riding dangerously low on his hips. “You made it!” he exclaims delightedly, then steps back, gesturing for Flint to come in.

Flint doesn't move.

“What’s wrong with you?” Silver asks, looking befuddled.

“You have to invite me in,” Flint says with an aggravated sigh. “I can't come into a human’s home unless I've been invited.”

“No fucking way! I didn't know that was a real thing. That's hilarious. Anyway, please come in. I'm officially inviting you into my home,” he says, and Flint steps inside, toeing his shoes off by the door. The two women on the worn old plaid couch - Idelle, who Flint knows, and a blonde he doesn't recognize - glance curiously over at him.

“Hi, Captain,” Idelle says, standing from the couch and taking the blonde’s hand, leading her toward the front door. “Bye, Captain,” Idelle says with a wink, and they disappear out the door.

“Would you look at that,” Silver says. “We’re alone.”

“So we are,” Flint rumbles. He lets Silver take him by the hand and they adjourn to what seems to have once been a broom closet, except now it has a bed and a dresser in it, and a laptop and bottle of lube on top of the dresser. It's fairly spartan otherwise, with no decoration aside from a cliche moon-and-stars tapestry (tablecloth?) covering the window and, incongruously, a large dangerous-looking black crossbow mounted on the wall above the twin bed. “Do you know how to use that?” he asks, gesturing.

“Not that it matters, but yeah,” Silver says as he sits on the bed and pulls Flint down with him. Silver is something of a waif, but Flint is broad and tall, and they barely fit together on the narrow bed.

“I should've just taken you home with me, this bed is ridiculous,” Flint gripes as he struggles out of his clothes and yanks Silver’s sweatpants down, pleased to see he's foregone underwear again.

“It works perfectly fine for my purposes, Mr. Huge Vampire Mansion,” Silver says smarmily, and as punishment for his attitude Flint flips him right over and bites down hard into one perfect asscheek, fangs digging in and drawing blood. Silver lets out a high-pitched noise like a squeal as Flint gets a taste of him, Silver’s blood sweet and rich and heavy on his tongue. He's never tasted anyone so delicious in all his years, it's maddening. He pulls back after a long moment with a contented moan, licking the excess blood off Silver’s soft, supple skin.

“You taste so good,” Flint rumbles, turning Silver back over. He reaches out to the dresser, which luckily is within arm’s reach because the room is just that small, and grabs the lube.

“You bit my ass,” Silver groans as a Flint eases two slick fingers inside him. Flint knows he's already been stretched open by a large dildo that must be hiding under the bed now, because he saw him use it on the webcam, so he doesn't waste too much time getting Silver ready.

“You liked it, I can tell you did,” Flint purrs, eyeing Silver’s hard, impressively large cock. He pulls his fingers out and grasps Silver by the hips, pushing into him without delay. “Fuck,” he gasps, overwhelmed all over again by how tight and hot Silver is. He ruts into him fast and hard, fingers digging bruises into Silver’s skin.

“More, please,” Silver mewls from beneath him, and Flint pulls him closer, roughing Silver up as he fucks him, letting him feel just a hint of his superhuman strength and potential for violence. It seems to be working for Silver, if the way his cock is leaking steadily on his belly is any indication.

Flint throws his head back and bares his teeth, crying out from deep in his chest and coming hard inside Silver. He feels him finish between them a moment later and then rolls to the side of him with a soft whine of satisfaction, burying his face in Silver’s neck. He wants to take another bite of him but calms himself instead, putting his fangs away and just basking in the afterglow. 

“Holy shit, that was amazing,” Silver pants, grinning, Flint doesn't want to find his smug, fucked-out expression cute, but.

“You weren't half-bad either, especially considering how much of a workout you already gave yourself on the webcam,” Flint purrs, wrapping one arm around Silver. He's warm and he smells to Flint like something savory and familiar - comforting, almost.

“I knew you were watching,” Silver says, and lord but he's insufferably smug. Flint is about to say something to that effect when he hears a soft scratching at the door and then what sounds to him like a soft, high-pitched voice saying, ‘Hello?’

“...do you have a cat, by any chance?” Flint asks, looking at the door curiously.

“I do actually, her name’s Sookie. How'd you know?” Silver asks. He gets up and strolls naked to the bedroom door, opening it just a crack. A tiny orange-and-white sausage of a cat saunters in with her tail up, purring a thank you and leaping up on to the bed to join Flint.

“I can, ah. Understand some animals. Sometimes. Especially cats, for reasons I've never fully understood,” Flint replies, scratching Sookie behind her ears and purring back at her.

“What,” Silver says, looking altogether too delighted, as he takes his place in bed again with Flint and the cat. “That’s so cool! What's she saying? Is she happy?”

“She’s hungry, and a little annoyed you've waited so long to feed her tonight. She knows I have something to do with it, but she's forgiven me because she...can smell you on me,” Flint says, scritching under Sookie’s chin as she purrs like crazy.

“I had better feed her, then. But you can stay,” Silver says, looking reluctant as he sits up and rummages on the floor, probably looking for something to wear.

“I shouldn't. It's getting late and I can't sleep in here, it's not lightproof.” Flint gets up from Silver’s bed with a groan, already thinking passionate thoughts about his own king-size mattress and soft sheets in his lightproof bedroom at home.

“What happens if you go in the sun? Does it...kill you, immediately?” Silver asks, his expression open and curious as he stares up at Flint.

“Not immediately, no. But if I stayed out in it long enough I'd burst into flame and disintegrate,” Flint says, pulling his pants up and then grabbing his shirt off the floor, shrugging into it. “That’s one of the only ways to kill me, if that was your next question. Sunlight, decapitation, or a wooden stake right to the heart,” he says, peering down at Silver as he swiftly buttons his shirt. “But I would hope you enjoy my body too much to want to see it meet the true death,” he jokes.

“Oh yeah, no need to worry there,” Silver agrees, grinning crookedly up at Flint. He stands to pull his sweatpants up, then rests one warm hand on Flint’s chest where his heart would be beating hard if it could still do that. “Immortality must be pretty fucking great, though. You've gotten to live so many lives, be so many different people. You were a pirate! A legit pirate of the Caribbean with gold treasure and an earring and everything. I bet you even had a parrot.”

“I fucking hate parrots,” Flint says flatly. “And being turned was...it...I've had a good life, mostly, but sometimes I wish things had gone...differently, I suppose.”

“Have you ever turned anybody else?” Silver asks, sounding a little too innocent. Like Flint can't tell where this is going.

“Yes,” he says, wary. “I’ve had three progeny. Two have since met the true death, and the other is my daughter Eleanor, who runs the Jolly Roger with me. I don't intend to make any more new vampires. I'm too old to handle a newborn these days, they're too much work.”

“Oh,” Silver says, and he sounds disappointed. “Who made you?” he asks, and Flint has to look away from those intensely blue eyes before he gets lost in them and says too much.

“That’s personal, I'm afraid. Goodnight, Silver, sleep well tonight. I'll be in touch after the sun goes down,” he says. He kisses him fleetingly and then leaves the crummy little apartment, hurrying out into the night air and then down the street to his car.

He needs to get home and go to bed for the day before intrusive thoughts of his long-dead maker upset him so much he can't sleep. If he doesn't sleep during the day, he'll get the bleeds, and he _hates_ the bleeds. So unattractive.

No more thinking of his maker, he tells himself as he beds down in his soft sheets on his large comfortable mattress in his cool, dark bedroom.

No more thinking of Thomas.


	3. dive in me

“Come on, Billy. You know me! You don't have to charge me the cover anymore, I've been coming here at least once or twice a week for three months and I'm a personal friend of the Captain’s,” Silver says, then takes a little step closer to the giant bouncer, putting one hand on his broad chest. “I could be a personal friend of yours, too, if you like,” he purrs, trying to charm him.

“Cut the shit, Silver, I'm asexual,” Billy says flatly, shoving Silver back from him none too gently. “Pay the cover or don't get in. Your choice.”

“Asexual, really? I mean, I understand that's a thing, and more power to you, but...wow,” Silver says, staring up at him, seeing him in a new light. Suddenly it all makes sense. “You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Bones.”

“Billy. You harassing Flint’s fucktoy again?” That sounds like Charles Vane’s deep growl of a voice, and when Silver glances over he sees the man in question leaning against the wall outside the Jolly Roger, smoking a cigarette. Charles is one of those really really ridiculously good-looking types, with his intense blue eyes, broad shoulders, and long, silky hair. Silver would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about hitting on Charles a time or two. Only fear of the wrath of Flint’s daughter Eleanor keeps him from actually doing it.

“He's harassing me, more like,” Billy huffs, scowling down at Silver.

“Let him in, I'll pay his cover,” Charles says, tossing his cigarette down and crushing it under the heel of his boot.

“Thanks, man, I owe you,” Silver says, and then winks at Charles because he can't help himself. “I’ll let you choose how I pay you back.” Charles’s laughter follows him as he slides past Billy into the club and makes a beeline for the stairs to the mezzanine, going straight to Flint’s office.

He barges in without knocking and finds Flint idly playing with his phone, his feet kicked up on his desk. He's dressed to blend in with the youngish crowd, in black jeans and expensive-looking leather boots, and a gray t-shirt that reads ‘kill your darlings’ across the front. His nails are manicured a metallic gray - almost silver, actually. He looks downright fuckable, in Silver’s opinion, but he always does.

“Good evening,” Silver drawls in a bad imitation of a Bram Stoker-type vampire, shutting and locking the door behind himself.

“You’re gross and that's practically racist,” Flint mutters without looking up from his phone.

“Good to see you, too,” Silver says, bracing his hands on the desk and leaning down into Flint’s personal space. “Why exactly did you summon me here, again, and make me put on pants and leave my house? I was watching Muppet Treasure Island.”

Flint snorts, finally looking up from his phone and meeting Silver’s gaze. “You were not.”

“Was so. I happen to like Tim Curry very much, I think he's sexy in a weird way,” Silver says. “Now did you ask me here just to bicker with me, or...?” He runs his tongue over his teeth, flashing his tongue ring at Flint and enjoying how that makes his eyes cross a little.

“Idelle told me you're behind on your portion of the rent for that shithole you call an apartment,” Flint intones after a moment, suddenly all business, taking his feet down from the desk and drawing himself up to his full height.

“Why the fuck did she tell you that?” Silver asks, bristling. “She's your sometimes employee. I'm your fuckbuddy. She's my roommate. Nowhere in there is any space for her to gossip to you about the state of my financial affairs,” he spits.

“So it's true, then,” Flint says quietly. “I can help you, you know, and I want to. Please. Let me--”

“Fuck no,” Silver says immediately, cutting him off. “I don't want your charity.”

“It isn't charity! You're behind on your rent because you haven't been working as an escort as much, and you haven't been working as much because you spend so many nights with me. I know your time is valuable, and I know you work hard.” He sighs, entirely for effect, Silver knows. That living dead bastard doesn't have to breathe, he just does it for the sake of the dramatic. “At least let me buy you some groceries or take you out to dinner or...something.”

“Absolutely not,” Silver says, gritting his teeth at the idea of Flint buying him groceries, in particular. That's just-- _no_.

“I could employ you here, part time,” Flint tries. “I’m sure you'd be a capable enough bartender.”

“Stop. I don't wanna talk about this,” Silver says, rounding the desk to stand close to Flint. He leans up to kiss him suddenly, one hand dipping under Flint’s shirt to feel his cool, smooth skin. “In fact I don't wanna talk at all.”

“Silver,” Flint rumbles warningly. “You are not charming your way out of this, we really ought to talk.”

“Watch me,” Silver says softly, then leans in to kiss Flint again, pinching his nipple with the hand under his shirt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he moans when he pulls back. “Thinking about fucking you.”

Flint looks like he wants to say something, maybe insist that he and Silver keep talking instead, but his fangs betray him by popping out before he can.

“You like this idea,” Silver says, grinning up at him. He turns Flint around slowly and bends him over his own desk, reaching around to unfasten the button fly of his jeans. “I dreamed about you last night and I woke up aching, I was so hard.”

“Silver,” Flint moans quietly, folding his arms on his desk and burying his face in them.

“How long has it been since someone fucked you properly?” Silver murmurs, pushing Flint’s jeans and underwear out of the way, then hastily pulling down his own pants. He opens the top desk drawer, finding the lube that he knows from experience Flint keeps stashed there. “It’s been a while, hasn't it? You're desperate for it, aren't you? I can tell. I know what you need.”

Even given Flint’s obvious arousal and how readily he submitted, Silver can't quite believe his luck once he's inside him, holding him by the hips and fucking him earnestly over the desk. He feels almost like he's got an exotic creature in his thrall, a big cat on a leash. Flint could so easily kill him, could turn on him and snap his neck without a second thought, but instead he's letting Silver fuck him. And he's enjoying it, too, if the way he's groaning and thrusting back against Silver is any indication.

When they've both finished, Silver hastily pulls his pants up, making a mental note to shower once he gets home if the bathroom is free and the hot water hasn't run out. “I should get going, I have a show to do,” he says to Flint, avoiding his gaze, starting for the door as Flint sets his own clothing to rights. If he doesn't get out of here fast, Flint will want to keep talking to him about money, he just knows it. The mere thought of continuing that conversation is giving him hives.

“I wasn't done talking to you,” Flint say as he recovers, buttoning his jeans and then putting his fangs away with what looks like considerable effort. “I really want to--”

“Nope!” Silver interrupts, pulling the office door open and scurrying away. He can feel Flint following him, and it just makes him walk faster.

“Silver! John, god _damn_ it!” Flint exclaims, sounding far too frustrated for someone who just got so thoroughly fucked. He grabs for Silver’s wrist, but he slips his grasp, charging down the stairs to the main floor. “Come back here, you fucking child!”

“Let me go,” Silver yells over the Veils song playing in the club, darting out the front door. “I don't want your help!” he shouts, wheeling to face Flint, walking hastily backward away from him and out into the wet, dark street. It has started raining, hard, and he's quickly soaked to the bone in freezing rain. “I don't need it, I rely on _me_ ,” he says, jabbing his fingers into his own chest. “I can't be beholden to you, I can't owe you, don't you get that?” he gasps, suddenly frantic, feeling like he's suffocating. “I can't do this with you!”

Then there's a screech, and a loud noise like thunder, and suddenly he's on his back in the road. He hurts all over, more than he's ever hurt before, which is saying a lot. Flint’s face is hovering over his, stricken. Dimly he wonders what just happened and ponders why he chose today to wear this shirt, an old threadbare number that says ‘FILTH’ in faded letters. Apparently he's going to die in it, which is just embarrassing. It is fitting, though.

He hears voices, scared and angry ones, and then all at once he feels Flint’s teeth on his neck. He relaxes and closes his eyes, satisfied that at least the last sensation he'll ever feel is a good one.

 

\---

 

He wakes up in a large, comfortable bed, which is strange, because from what he can remember he should be in the hospital. Or the morgue, but he supposes he wouldn't wake up at all if he were there. He and Flint were arguing, and then it was raining and he stupidly ran into the street and - was he hit by a car? He's not sure, but he thinks so.

The strangest thing is, he doesn't hurt anymore. In fact, he feels pretty good. He's alert and wide awake, well-rested. All his usual aches and pains are gone. He doesn't even have any road rash on his arms or face from where he hit the pavement, he realizes. His skin is practically glowing.

The only negative thing he does feel is hunger. He's not just a little peckish, either, he's _starving_. The hunger is gnawing at his stomach, giving him pains like it used to when he was little and there wasn't enough to go around. He can't even think clearly, he's so hungry.

He looks around frantically for something to eat and sees Flint lying next to him, still dead to the world. Something compels him to grab hold of Flint’s arm and bite his wrist, so he does. To his great surprise he breaks the skin immediately, almost as though his teeth have gotten sharper. Flint’s blood doesn't taste coppery or salty to him, and it doesn't make him gag like he might've expected. It tastes...delicious, and he needs it in his mouth, needs to swallow it. He draws hard on Flint’s wrist, clinging to his arm and drinking his blood down with an ecstatic moan.

Understandably, Flint starts awake, sitting up and staring at Silver with wide, disbelieving eyes. “It worked,” he whispers, oddly enough seeming not to mind that Silver is making a meal out of him, and messily, too.

Silver pulls back a few moments later once he's gotten his fill, blood-drunk and in a haze of bliss. “What worked?” he mumbles, and that's weird, he feels like he's talking around some new teeth. Some big new teeth.

“I...turned you,” Flint says, still staring like he can't quite believe Silver’s there.

“You did _what_?” Silver asks, incredulous, staring back.

“You were hit by a car, your injuries were catastrophic. Fatal. You were dying and I-- couldn't let that happen. I couldn't just let you bleed out in the road,” Flint says softly.

“I’m...like you now? I'm a vampire?” Silver asks. He stares down at his hands, taking stock of himself, realizing he can't feel his heart beating. _Fuck_. It's true. He's the living dead. He's immortal! “Well, I guess that explains the fangs and the bloodlust. Fuck me, are you this hungry all the time? I just-- ate? Or drank? And I already want more.”

“No, I don't feel that hunger all the time anymore. It's because you're new that you're so hungry,” Flint explains. He shifts closer to Silver in bed and slowly, cautiously pulls the sheet off him, exposing the next big shock. Silver hears Flint inhale and say ‘oh’ very softly, so he looks down, wondering what all the fuss is about.

Silver’s left leg is fucking gone. Vanished into thin air. Below the knee, there's just - nothing. A big mass of new pink scar tissue, which is telling, but no calf, no ankle, no foot. It's all gone.

“What the fuck,” Silver whispers, looking at Flint in anguish. He can't just not have a leg! Who will want him? How will he work? How will he _live_?

“I don't know why it didn't regenerate when you turned, I thought it would if you pulled through,” Flint says. “That’s what I meant by catastrophic injury,” he says very quietly.

“So now I'm immortal, but I'm also a fucking cripple,” Silver says, rubbing both hands over his face and whining in the back of his throat, too hungry to deal with all of this. “That’s just my goddamn luck. Can I bite you again? Please? I'm so fucking hungry, fuck.” The intensity of his hunger is giving him unfortunate flashbacks to his childhood. He can remember begging his older cousin for something to eat the way he's begging Flint now, and he can remember being backhanded across the face for his trouble. Merle always was a mean sonofabitch.

“You can't drink too much, it'll overwhelm you. I'm old and my blood is very powerful stuff. But you can have a little more,” Flint relents, offering Silver his wrist.

Silver ignores the proffered arm and lunges at Flint, sinking his new fangs into his neck instead. He holds tight to him and drinks greedily, feeding until Flint pushes him away, holding him at arm’s length so he can't bite his neck again. “I’m sorry,” Silver pants. He's dimly aware that he doesn't need to breathe anymore, but it's force of habit.

“It’s alright, you're just hungry. I remember that feeling,” he says, the wounds in his neck healing immediately, disappearing before Silver’s eyes. Flint grabs his phone from the nightstand and calls someone, speaking in hushed tones that Silver can hear anyway. So his leg is gone, but at least his hearing is awesome now. Silver lining. “Eleanor? It worked. Yes. Yes. I know. Please bring him and anyone else you know who's been fed on before and isn't afraid of it,” he says. He glances over at Silver, appraising. “Yes. Extremely so. Thank you, goodbye,” he says, them hangs up.

“You’re having her bring people over to feed me? Why can't I just drink that Ichor stuff?” Silver asks, stretching out in the bed and resolutely not looking at his leg, or lack thereof. He plays with his new fangs instead, running his tongue over them and muttering a curse when he cuts himself on them. He tries to get them to recede, to pop back up into his mouth the way Flint’s do, but they won't budge.

“You could. It'll keep you alive and keep you from starving, but it won't slake the bloodlust, which is very powerful for you right now. Didn't you ever wonder why I used to feed on you?” Flint asks, eyeing Silver.

“Because it was fun?” Silver asks, not looking at him.

“Well, yes, that's part of it,” Flint allows. He's still staring, Silver can feel it.

“When can I go home?” Silver asks, suddenly wanting to be in his own bed, in the comfort of his own home. By himself. He feels scattered, torn between being ecstatic about his newfound immortality and all the awesome trappings of vampire life, and being completely devastated about the traumatic loss of his leg. It's a weird headspace to occupy, and he'd rather not have an audience while he sorts this shit out.

“John...you can't,” Flint says, and he sounds genuinely sad. “You can't live there anymore, it's not safe.”

“It’s fine! Just because someone broke into your car _once_ when you were parked outside doesn't mean--”

“It isn't that, your bedroom isn't lightproof. Besides, you lived with humans. I'm not trying to malign your self-control, but as a newborn it'll be very hard for you to keep yourself in check around humans for some time,” Flint says. “All things considered, it'll be best for you if you move in here with me. I need to teach you how to live your new life, as my maker once taught me.”

Silver feels tears welling up, inexplicably, and reaches up to brush them off his face as they fall. His hand comes away bloody. “What even is this? What's happening to me?” he whispers to himself, starting to tremble. “It’s too much. I feel...too much. I'm so happy but I'm sad, too, and I can't-- I can't.”

“You’re still raw. You've been through rather a lot, and newborns tend toward mood swings anyway. Come here,” Flint says. He holds his arms out to Silver and he moves into his embrace, leaning on Flint and sniffling, trying not to get bloody tears on him.

Then something occurs to Silver. “I’m naked. Why am I naked?” 

“Your clothes were ruined. Besides, I like you naked,” Flint purrs, nuzzling behind Silver’s ear.

“Not anymore, you can't possibly be attracted to me now that I'm dead and missing a leg. Who would want that?” Silver mutters, slipping deeper into self-pity, the excitement he was feeling about his new life starting to slip away.

“Hush,” Flint admonishes, and holds him tighter.

A short while later, there's a quiet knock at the bedroom door. Flint pulls the sheet up over Silver, preserving what little modesty he has. Eleanor appears in the doorway a moment later, Charles right behind her and Idelle behind him.

“It really did work,” Eleanor says, staring at Silver. “But his leg...?” she asks, frowning at Flint. It's obvious, even with the sheet drawn up over Silver’s lap, that his leg is gone.

“I know. I'm not sure why it didn't...but he lived and that's what matters,” Flint replies. He beckons the two humans closer with one finger. “I’ll keep hold of him so he doesn't take too much and seriously harm either of you. He's going to try to be gentle but he's very new and might hurt you, I'm just warning you now. Thank you for doing this.”

Charles approaches the bed first. He doesn't smell quite as good as Flint, but he smells enticing just the same, and Silver wants a taste. He takes Charles’s arm when it's offered and bites down on his wrist, distantly hearing Charles growl ‘ow, fuck.’ Then his world narrows to Charles’s heart pounding in his ears, the taste of his blood in his mouth. He barely gets to swallow any, or so it feels to him, before Flint is pulling him back and Charles is slumping over, looking woozy and glassy-eyed.

“I did that?” Silver asks Flint, fidgeting restlessly in his grasp. “I’m still hungry,” he says, staring at Idelle. She smells heavenly. He feels guilty for hurting Charles, for wanting so badly to bite Idelle, but he's just so hungry.

“Gently,” Flint reminds him, his strong arms locked in an iron grip around Silver’s waist.

Idelle sits on the edge of the bed, tipping her head to the side and pushing her long, dark hair off her neck. Her skin is pale and flawless, and he can see and hear her pulse thumping steadily away. She smiles at Silver invitingly, and he leans in to bite her neck as gently as he can, then almost instantaneously gets lost in the ambrosial taste of her and blacks out.

When Silver comes to again, Idelle is lying on her back on the bed, unconscious. He and Flint are grappling with each other, fangs out, Silver kicking his one good leg and writhing and trying desperately to get at Idelle again. Abruptly he stops when he realizes what he's doing, losing all the will to fight Flint. “I could've killed her,” he whispers, feeling shame roll over him in cold, sickening waves.

“Take them out of here,” Flint instructs Eleanor. “And open the club for me tonight. I need to stay here with him,” he says.

“Are you sure? Should I have Jack bring you anything?” she asks. She helps Charles stand and gathers Idelle in her arms, making it look easy to support both humans even though she's not a large woman.

“Have him get more Ichor, every flavor. And see if he can stop by John’s apartment for his things. Clothes and so on,” Flint says.

“Have him bring Sookie,” Silver murmurs, turning to hide his face in Flint’s shoulder. He's feeling too overwhelmed and on edge to do anything except sit still and try not to flip the fuck out. Having his cat around, all purring in his face and kneading him, might help him relax.

“Right. Yes. John has a cat named Sookie, have him get her, too.”

“Alright. I'll give Jack the list and go open the club. If you need anything else, you know where to reach me,” Eleanor says. She leans down and kisses Flint’s cheek, and then she's gone, arms full of swooning humans.

Silver leans on Flint, starting to feel...restless, now. And something else. He glances down at himself, surprised to find he's hard. “What the hell? I thought you said I was a newborn, not a teenager. Why am I hard all of a sudden? Why is my body doing so much weird shit?”

“Your moods are going to be a bit all over the place for a while, until your body adjusts to its new state and...calms down. It's a pain, but it is normal,” Flint assures him.

“So this happened to you, too?” Silver asks, shifting his hips and trying to ignore his persistent erection. Maybe if he doesn't pay attention to it, it'll go away.

“Yeah,” Flint says, and for a moment he grins like he's remembering something, or someone.

“Tell me about the one who made you. Please,” Silver requests, shifting so he's lying across Flint’s lap, looking up at him. He's not sure if it's because he's been turned, or because his emotions are so all over the place, or what, but he's feeling a strange closeness to Flint that he's pretty sure wasn't there before.

Flint looks down at him, and then his fingers are in Silver’s hair, idly toying with the curls. “He was my...truest love, we loved each other very much. He was quite a bit older than I am now, more than a thousand years old, actually. I knew him as Thomas, but he'd been other people before, of course,” he says.

“Was he a pirate, too?” Silver asks, struggling to conjure up a mental image of this man who meant so much to Flint.

“No,” Flint says with a bark of laughter, like the very idea is ridiculous. “Of course I wasn't either, when we-- when I met him. Not yet.”

“Where is he now? Can we go visit him? It would be cool to meet someone who's been around that long, seen so much of the world,” Silver muses. He's imagining getting to ask this Thomas all his questions, maybe getting some dirt on Flint from him. The idea pleases him.

“He met the true death some time ago,” Flint says quietly, fingers stilling in Silver’s hair. Silver can't think of anything to say in reply, and the silence is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages, even though it's not enough, even though he knows it's a pretty lame response to Flint telling him the love of his life is dead - really dead, gone forever.

“Me, too,” Flint says with feeling, and when Silver glances up at him, it's clear from his expression that he's miles away. When he comes back to himself, it's to look at Silver and frown just a little. “We’re going to have to get you an appointment with a doctor who'll see vampires, for your leg. I've only heard of one around here. Dr. Darling.”

“Bullshit, that isn't a real doctor’s real name,” Silver mutters. He doesn't want to think about his leg, at all, ever, but he would like to get a prosthetic sorted out as soon as possible. It won't be as good as having a real leg, but he bets that as an amputee vampire he could make a killing on the fetish circuit.

“Says the person whose parents named him John Silver,” Flint replies archly, tugging playfully on Silver’s hair.

“Yeah, sure they did,” Silver murmurs, pressing his head against Flint’s hand because the tugging felt good. “More,” he demands, baring his fangs at Flint just to see how that feels.

Flint just laughs and pulls his hair again, making him hiss and arch his back. “Feeling ourselves, are we?” he purrs, eyes roaming over Silver’s body, and oh yeah, he's definitely still hard.

When Jack arrives later with the long list of things Eleanor sent him out for, he finds Silver and Flint, bloodied and sticky, tangled up naked in the sheets with their teeth at each other's throats and their hands on each other's cocks. 

He seriously wonders, not for the first time, how much he really needs this job.


	4. that boy is a monster

Having a newborn is exhausting.

Having John Silver as his newborn is exhausting, and infuriating, and ridiculously exhilarating. Their first few weeks living together are a haze of pleasure and fury, of arguing and fucking, and Flint had almost forgotten how good being with another vampire feels, he'd been alone for so long. His relationship with Eleanor has always been more parent-child than anything, and while she lived with him for a time after he initially turned her, it was nothing like this.

Flint goes looking for Silver in the house one night as dawn approaches, and finds him standing in front of the refrigerator in just his underpants and his shiny new prosthetic leg (courtesy of Dr. Darling and associates). His large, overpriced headphones are covering his silly little ears, and Flint can distantly hear the song that's playing - Childish Gambino, he thinks. Silver’s got the door of the fridge open and a bottle of Ichor, type A negative, in one hand, drinking straight from the bottle without even bothering to heat it up in the microwave. Like an animal.

“That’s disgusting,” Flint says as Silver puts the mostly-empty bottle back in the fridge and wipes his faux-bloodied mouth on his bare forearm.

“Gotta keep my strength up. I have a client coming over soon,” Silver says as he takes his headphones off, shutting the fridge and turning to face Flint. He's already gotten quite nimble on his prosthetic, something Flint attributes to his innate tenacity and how incredibly unwilling he is to be seen as weak.

“A client?” Flint repeats. “No. Absolutely not. Call him and tell him you can't do it, he'll have to find someone else,” he says. He has no problem with Silver being an escort - really, he doesn't, even if the spike of jealousy he feels in his gut says different - but there are so many problems with this plan.

“He’s already on his way over. Since when do you care if I fuck other people? I have to work, I don't have any money. He's willing to pay a lot to be with me now that I'm dead and an amputee,” Silver says, leaning back against the fridge with his arms folded over his bare chest. He's been growing his hair out even longer, Flint has noticed, and he's got a bit of a scraggly hipster beard going, too. He shouldn't be as attractive as he is.

“It isn't that. I'm afraid you're not ready to be with a human again just yet. You've only been with me since you turned, you could still very easily accidentally kill a human. Besides, it's close to dawn and you need to sleep,” Flint says, frowning down at him. He's already got his silky pajamas on and was looking forward to going to bed with Silver soon.

“I won't kill him! I do have some self-control. You make it sound like I'm gonna fuck him to death, Jesus. And I can stay up late, I'll be fine. I'll just take him to that spare lightproof room upstairs that Eleanor stays in sometimes, we won't even know it's daytime outside,” Silver argues, and Flint exhales forcefully for effect, just so Silver will know how stupid he's being.

“Do you know what happens when you stay up past dawn?” he asks as patiently as he can, which is through gritted teeth, with a scowl he can feel contorting his features.

“Not exactly, but as long as I stay out of the sunlight I'll be fine, right?” Silver asks.

“You’ll get the bleeds. I already told you about this, do you ever listen when I talk?” Flint gripes, and then someone is ringing the doorbell. “You stay here. I'm going to go deal with that,” he says. “Don’t make me command you,” he adds when Silver looks like he wants to argue.

Flint opens the front door to a nervous-looking human, who's so excited at the prospect of being with a vampire that Flint can smell it on him. He really doesn't enjoy hypnotizing people, but sometimes needs must. “You are going to leave this house and forget you ever came here,” he says softly, locking eyes with the man and staring deep into him. “You will not come here again. You will never solicit the services of my progeny again. You will go home and reevaluate your life choices.”

“...reevaluate my life choices,” the man mumbles. He snaps out of the trance and then looks around, bewildered. “Oh, uh. I was just going,” he says.

Flint smiles dangerously. “Yes, you were. Goodbye now,” he says, then shuts the door and retreats inside, turning around and coming face to face with an angry-looking Silver.

“The fuck did you do that for?” Silver spits, and he really should consider wearing more clothing the next time he wants to argue because the way he's standing there mostly naked, fangs out, all that bare skin practically shimmering in the low light, makes it-- _hard_ , for Flint to concentrate on what he's saying. He's got his stupidly expensive headphones around his neck, resting on his collarbones, and Flint can hear ‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac spilling out. Sometimes, he has to grudgingly admit, Silver’s got decent taste in music. He's nice to look at and touch and kiss, he's not completely useless around the house, sometimes he even makes Flint laugh...

Wait, what are they talking about, again? Right.

“I don't want you taking clients again just yet. You don't know your own strength when it comes to humans, and you and I both know that synthetic blood does nothing to make the bloodlust go away,” Flint says. “Give it more time. For at least your first six months, you're going to be volatile and particularly dangerous to humans.”

“So I'm just not supposed to work for six fucking months?!” Silver exclaims, his voice going high like it does when he's feeling affronted. “I don't have any money. Doing the webcam shows isn't enough, especially now that I'm limited to doing them when it's dark here. I have to work!”

“No, you don't. I have more than enough money for us, and I have a thriving business that brings in more every night. You can relax - you don't need to work unless you really want to,” Flint argues, wondering why Silver is so hung up on supporting himself. It's not like Flint can't afford to support them both.

“I can't rely on you like that, I can't just...let you take care of me,” Silver says, and he still looks angry, but he also looks conflicted. Confused.

“Why not?” Flint asks quietly, reaching out to put a hand on Silver’s bare waist, looking down into those enticingly blue eyes.

“I know I haven't told you much about me or where I came from, but let's just say I don't have a great track record with trusting people to look after me. Especially when I'm vulnerable and desperate,” Silver says, his throat working as he looks up at Flint. He's started worrying his lower lip with his fangs, and he looks so _young_ all of a sudden.

“You can trust me,” Flint says, pulling Silver into an embrace and kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Silver mutters, sounding bitter, but when Flint pulls him close he goes anyway. “Are you sure this isn't just because you're jealous? You don't want me to take clients because you want my sweet ass all to yourself,” he jokes.

“I appreciate you for more than just your body, you realize,” Flint says, barely above a whisper, and it's not until the words are out of his mouth that he understands just how much he feels for Silver. He's in deep. He's caught feelings, as the kids Silver’s age might say.

“No, that's not true. You find me uncivilized, aggravating, and - what was that fancy word you used? - vexatious,” Silver says, and all that is true, but the way he's nuzzling into the silky front of Flint’s pajama shirt is stupidly endearing.

“John. Look at me.” Flint waits until he does. “I think...somehow I've fallen for you. I didn't mean to, and I know it complicates things, but if there's anything I've learned in more than three hundred years of existence - you can't just not tell people how you feel when you realize you love them.” This is the part where his heart would be pounding, if it could still do that.

Silver is looking up into Flint’s eyes, and his own have gone wide, shining. Flint can feel him trembling just a little. “You love me? Really?” he asks, and he's worrying his lip with his fangs again, so Flint kisses him to make him stop doing that. It's a bad habit.

“Yes,” Flint says when he pulls back. “You’re uncivilized, aggravating, and vexatious, and I love you.”

“I love you too, you ridiculous old man,” Silver says, so quietly Flint almost misses it. He looks at Silver for a long moment and then they're both a blur of motion.

They wind up in the master bedroom upstairs, the door slammed shut and the two of them rolling around the bed, kissing and biting at each other. Silver’s underwear and his prosthetic leg have been conveniently lost somewhere along the way, his phone and headphones with them, so he's completely naked under Flint.

Flint works himself out of his silky pajamas and then stretches out on top of Silver. “We have to be quick about this, it's almost dawn,” he says as he reaches out to the nightstand for the lube.

“How romantic. I love you, now let’s fuck before the sun rises and we both get the bleeds,” Silver snarks, but he's spreading his thighs apart to let Flint’s slick fingers inside him and Flint can't help but think he hasn't seen anything so beautiful in a long time.

Once he's inside Silver, Flint wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, moaning and sighing against his skin, scraping him with his fangs so that he shivers and whines. They're gentler with each other than they might usually be, and Flint feels a warmth blooming in his chest as he eases his fangs into Silver’s neck, driving deep into him. He can hardly tell where he ends and Silver begins, the taste of his blood sweet and familiar on his tongue.

He pulls back from Silver’s neck to look down into his eyes as he gets close, getting one hand between them to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Silver is writhing underneath him, obviously getting close, too, and Flint wants, needs, to see him overcome by ecstasy. “That’s it, John, that's it,” he pants, and then Silver’s tightening around him and arching his back.

“James!” he cries out as he comes, throwing his head back, fangs gleaming in the darkness. Flint finishes immediately after him with a low, helpless groan, then collapses on top of him.

They both lie still for a little while, then Flint reluctantly pulls away, disappearing into the en-suite bathroom and coming back with a damp washcloth to clean Silver and himself. Silver starts laughing while he's running the cloth over his lower stomach and Flint looks at him, questioning. “What, are you ticklish all of a sudden?”

“No, it's not that. I just realized that you made Eleanor and you made me, but now I'm your - boyfriend or lover or whatever. So I'm like, her brother and her stepdaddy, all at once,” he says, giggling.

“That’s funny to you?” Flint asks, bemused. “It does seem vaguely incestuous, I suppose, when you put it that way.”

“I guess you have to be from a place like I'm from to find it funny,” Silver says. “You fancy English types, you don't know what it's like in the backwoods of the South.” He stretches, then rolls over on to his side to go to sleep.

“You’re not Southern, you don't have even the faintest trace of an accent,” Flint says as he curls up behind Silver, slinging one arm over his waist. “Are you?”

“Can’t hear you. Sleeping,” Silver murmurs, pressing back against Flint with a sated little sigh.

“Brat,” Flint murmurs in reply, holding Silver tight and burying his face in his curls. He's going to get Silver’s story out of him someday, but he's in no rush.

They've got all the time in the world.


End file.
